


"Enough...I heard enough" - Strike's POV

by RobinLeStrange



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)
Genre: Dream Sex, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Sleep talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-01-25 18:22:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21360652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange
Summary: So I wrote a smutty drabble for the prompt "Enough...I heard enough" from Robin's POV last month, and a few people wanted to see it from Strike's perspective.So here it is...with a bit of bonus material!
Relationships: Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike, Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike
Comments: 5
Kudos: 68





	"Enough...I heard enough" - Strike's POV

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by ["Enough...I heard enough..."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21181643) by [RobinLeStrange](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLeStrange/pseuds/RobinLeStrange). 

> So I wrote a smutty drabble for the prompt "Enough...I heard enough" from Robin's POV last month, and a few people wanted to see it from Strike's perspective. 
> 
> So here it is...with a bit of bonus material!

Strike smiled at the sight of Robin's head resting on the arm of the sofa as he entered the office and headed for the kettle. She’d had an early surveillance job in foul weather and was clearly wiped out.

As he debated whether to wake her with a cuppa he became aware of a series of soft whimpers emanating from her sleeping form. For a moment he thought she was having a nightmare and he headed swiftly over to check she was okay, but he was stopped in his tracks as the whimpering became a barely audible but distinctive moan.

He raised an eyebrow, unable to tear his eyes away from her flushed face as she squirmed under the soft fleece throw. His brain knew he shouldn’t be watching this, but was fighting a losing battle with another part of his anatomy which was thoroughly enjoying the show.

After a few seconds he forced himself to turn back to his tea making, only to hear Robin breathlessly call his name.

“Cormoran...”

She was still asleep.

“Oh, God…yes…Cormoran…please don’t stop…”

He felt himself drawn back to the sofa as if by some kind of magnetic force, watching as Robin began to stir. A brief frown passed across her face as her eyes flickered open and latched on to his feet, then travelled up his body to meet his gaze for a millisecond before looking away, her cheeks scarlet.

He could hardly believe what he’d just heard and witnessed. There was absolutely no mistaking the nature of Robin's dream, and he knew that he might not get another opportunity to address the elephant that had taken up residence in their office ever since her split from Matthew.

“You talk in your sleep, Ellacott.” His eyes were soft but darkly intense and his heart was thundering in his chest.

She blushed furiously. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Enough,” he growled softly, kneeling awkwardly on the floor beside her. “I heard enough…”

“Shit!” Robin flopped back, pulling the blanket completely over her head.

Strike took a deep breath.

“Is that ‘Shit, that was completely random and happened in an unfortunate place and I never want to speak of it again,’” he paused, “Or ‘Shit, that’s potentially just forced a conversation about something I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about?’”

She wriggled further under the blanket, and there they stayed for several minutes, Robin hiding, Strike sat next to her on the floor, waiting, trying to find a position that wouldn’t send his bad leg into spasm. He had just about configured an appropriate speech in his head when the office door burst open and a wiry, tattooed whirlwind entered.

“Alright Bunsen,” his eyes dropped as Strike, thinking quickly, shushed him frantically, “The fuck are you doing down there?!”

“Robin,” Strike nodded his head toward the mummified figure on the sofa, “Sleeping...migraine.”

“Riiiight...” drawled Shanker, grinning, “...and you’re playing nurse are ya? Jesus Christ when are ya gonna get it together and tell the girl ya love her ya soppy bastard?”

Only Strike heard the strangled gasp from beneath the blanket, as he gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes at his unwitting friend.

“Anyway, just dropping off that address ya wanted mate, so I’ll leave ya to it,” he smirked as he headed back out, “Laters...Florence.”

When Strike turned back to the sofa, Robin was peeking over the top of the blanket.

“What was that about conversations I'm not ready to have?”

He cleared his throat, not quite meeting her eye. “I was working up to it when bloody Shanker rudely interrupted.”

“Riiiight,” she replied, pulling herself upright.

“I was!” his tone was indignant, but then it softened. “It’s true though...what he said.”

Robin realised suddenly that Strike was still kneeling uncomfortably on the floor beside her. “Get up here, you idiot!” she laughed, patting the sofa next to her and effectively dissipating the tension of the moment. He did as he was told, turning to look at her as he sat, waiting for some kind of response to the actual matter in hand.

“How long for?”

He exhaled a long breath that he hadn't realised he was holding.

“Longer than you can probably imagine.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” she said, quietly.

He looked at her, utterly bewildered. Discovering she might feel the same was one thing, realising that it wasn’t new for her either was something else.

“Really?” 

“Really.”

They sat, simply looking at each other for several moments, neither of them quite able to believe that the scenario they’d both played out in their imaginations a hundred times was finally happening. It was Robin’s hand that crept across the gap between them and covered Strike’s, squeezing gently. Her hair was floating around her face, still affected by the static charge from the blanket, and his other hand came up to gently brush it back into place, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear, his fingertips skimming the lobe as his thumb caressed first her cheek, and then ghosted softly over her slightly parted lips.

She watched his eyes dilate and saw him swallow as he bent his head towards hers and finally…finally kissed her. His mouth lingered, first on her bottom lip, then the top, and then his tongue was coaxing its way gently into her mouth, sliding slowly against hers. She reciprocated enthusiastically, and he pulled her closer, moaning softly as her hand glided up his thigh, pausing just before the spot where he ached to feel her fingertips.

With a massive effort of self-control, Strike pulled back, drinking in the sight of Robin, dazed from his kisses and as breathless he was.

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked confused. “Why’d you stop?”

Strike huffed out an amused sigh. “Because if I hadn’t stopped then I’m afraid I’d have struggled to stop at all,” he admitted, darkly.

“And?”

His eyebrows shot upwards. He had not been expecting that reaction. Although to be fair, he hadn’t been expecting any of this when he’d wandered into the front office this afternoon for a cuppa and a handful of Hob-Nobs.

“Erm…wouldn’t you rather take things a bit slower?”

“Slower than the time it’s already taken?” she laughed, “Besides, when you came in and made tea you woke me up in the middle of my rather lovely dream…” she eyed his forearms beneath his rolled up shirtsleeves and shivered slightly, “…so you, Cormoran Strike, owe me an orgasm.”

For a split second he wondered if she had even the faintest idea what she was doing to him. Then he noticed her disarming grin and twinkling eyes and realised she knew very well.

He pulled her to her feet.

“Upstairs with you then…” he growled, “…now.”

She didn’t need asking twice.


End file.
